A Little Night Music (Music of the Night: Reprise)
Gods, but he was restless. Sleep eluded him, though it clung to it with all the irritating qualities of a handful of cobwebs, meaning any further work on his arms would be shoddy at best. He despised that sort of feeling, the urge to run or scream or tear into something or leap and sing. Anything to chase away the crackle of nervous energy in his rib cage that soared through his entire body any time he allowed himself to think. Thus, he wasn't as surprised as he perhaps should have been when his footsteps led him to familiar halls. Something inside him snarled and paced the confines of his mind and heart when he saw moonlight rippling through a window or skylight somewhere in the dining hall. He didn't pay mind to the source of the light, entranced by the shades of silvery autumn twilight that painted the whole room in a sort-of monochrome. A familiar piano called to him with a siren's song yet unplayed, and he found himself at the bench within the blink of an eye. Sighing slowly through his nose, he gingerly set his hands (one faulty, occasionally sparking, one a spartan, metal facsimile of the bones he once had) on the keys, tapping nonsensically against them for a few moments, admiring the click and creak of metal on ivory. After a hundred measured heartbeats, he stopped, statuesque in his stillness. After fifty more measured heartbeats, he closed his eyes. After thirty more heartbeats, he opened them again, and began to play. Music flowered through his fingers and bloomed in the air around him as his mind wandered through image after image, words having left his mind for the moment. If questioned, he likely wouldn't remember any but a handful, and even then it would be easier to oversimplify their significance to a few simple words. Worry for the future, guilt for the past, and a hurricane for the present. As the first song shifted into the next, so too did his thoughts shift. Für Elise. He had played it for Elise, once upon a simpler time, for much the same reason he played it now, but the emotion of the piece was different. When he had played it for her, it was stiff and.. inorganic in its flow, hammered to perfection because nothing short of that would be acceptable to those that had watched on. 'Now,' He smirked as he thought, 'Now it is Für Elias' Though he stumbled in places, they were easily corrected, with little of the abrupt stopping and starting of all his practices in times past. He could practically see the currents, the ebb and flow of the piece whose sheet music danced before his eyes. He felt.. comfortable wasn't the most precise word for the situation, but it would do. There was a warmth there that had been missing before, that he had been missing before. As the last notes of that song died away and his fingers coaxed a new song into dancing, he let his thoughts wander to those of air, blood, light, and dust. Shapeless and wordless in form, but with presence all the same. He felt as if he were merely a conduit for the stories hidden in the strings and wood of the instrument before him, and he was grateful for the temporary stilling of his restless mind. Time would pass, and the ethereal silver of the moonlight would remain constant and unwavering as he quite literally lost himself into the otherworld of melody and harmony. Listen to what Richard plays (preformed by Tairais) here. Arthur: ( Beyond the window where moonlight filtered in --..though perhaps beyond was a term unfit for this, because Arthur was really sitting on the outer windowsill. But, sitting there had given him the perfect view of a man resting at the piano. They had yet to notice him, however. He couldn't recall when or how he'd gotten there, but that was normal. His memory did like to fail him at times like these. What did he remember last? 'No handouts here, sir. You're better off elsewhere.' ...Was this elsewhere? He did not know. The night air dug it's icy claws into his skin, but that happened everywhere in London. He can't have gone far. It wasn't warm enough for far. It was then that Richard had begun to play, and beautiful music met his ears, soft and booming notes that danced to a story he didn't know. His thoughts were pierced and silenced, and he let the sound wash over him. Sonido bonito, he thought after the first song. The thought that followed was one of confusion. Where had he heard that phrase before? ...Again, he did not know. Minutes later did the music end on a second piece, the sounds dying off until there was none, and he bore a goofy grin as he began to applaud. )' '''Tairais: At the sound of applause, each clap muffled like an icicle falling off a frozen pine tree into the snow , Richard startled, though he turned his instinct to flee into tensed shoulders he quickly relaxed. Turning slightly in his seat as if he hadn't a care in the world, Richard's gaze found the moonlit sort-of-silhouette of a man sitting on one of the windowsills. "Well. That is.. hardly expected." Finding words failed him, he tilted his head like a curious wolf of sorts, a number of 'What?'s and 'Who?'s and 'Why?'s flickering in the golden-emerald depths of his eyes (or eye; his unruly, curly hair was once again doing him the favor of hiding the other from view). He wasn't annoyed, really, more amused and bemused than anything. His eyes sparkled with it all. It really was turning out to be an interesting evening. Arthur: ( His expression grows..panicked. ) Did I do something wrong? Tairais: Richard shook his head, then stood and slowly walked to the window, talking as he went. "N-not at a-all. I w-was m-merely.. curious as t-to how and w-why you ended u-up on t-the window s-sill. A-are you n-not c-cold?" He was, actually mildly worried for the man. The weather was growing colder every day; Winter was in the air with its sharp, metallic taste, and the smoke that permeated London did so more now as hearths danced with flame. He tilted his head the other way. "F-for t-that matter, w-would you l-like to g-get out of t-the chill?" Arthur: ( Yes, actually, he was damn near freezing. He chuckles meekly. ) Could you? Tairais: Richard chuckled. "Of c-course, I w-would not have s-such an avid l-listener f-freeze to d-death." He gently unlatched the clasp that kept the windows open and allowed them to swing inward. The cold air hit his lungs like iron nails on a cobblestone street, and yet he found he couldn't entirely mind. It felt invigorating, like a brutal rebirth of sorts. His mother had always called spring the season of beginning, but perhaps, he mused, the beginning of the beginning was in the final heaving sighs of life before its inevitable slumber. How delightfully... morbid. He locked his flickering thoughts behind warm eyes and a relaxed stance, stepping aside so that his newfound companion could alight to the floor more easily. If he was of the perceptive sort, it would not do to slip up so early. He had made that (fortunate?) mistake with Lewis already, he didn't care to disappoint his father's memory with another loss of control so soon. Arthur: ( Richard's quickness to hide this thoughts works indeed, but for a moment, Arthur looks upon him rather... curiously. That is, before defaulting to his nervous, excited buzz. ) Thank you! Tairais: "Of c-course!" He shut the window after a moment staring almost.. wistfully into the frigid atmosphere beyond. Turning to face his guest, he tucked his hands behind his back and bowed slightly. "D-doctor R-richard Prince, at y-your service. H-how are y-you called?" He filed away both Arthur's curious look and his jittery nerves. He seemed right to be wary, and was grateful he had acted preemptively. Arthur: I'm flattered you thought of me! ( Arthur sighed through his nose, the warmth of the room quickly driving away what cold feelings had remained, in both mind and body. He showed a grateful smile. ) Arthur! Tairais: Richard flashed another smile. "W-wonderful t-to meet you, Arthur. M-may I get you a-anything t-to eat or d-drink? I h-have little idea as t-to how l-long you w-were perched t-there, s-so perhaps one or b-both are in order." Logic and instinct clashed with each other in a messy series of discordant harmonies in his mind's eye. Arthur could be a spy of some sort, perhaps even for- Well, he wouldn't invoke their names, but them. It was a slight chance- he had only survived leaving them because of the semblance of respect that was still left after.. everything happened. It was that dark respect that would lead them to pursue him again, one day. He was certain of it. Even if that were not the case, there was the simple matter of Arthur being a stranger found in.. rather odd circumstance. Still, his desire to help certain others had only grown with the passing of so many loved ones, and he felt his mind placing Arthur in that such category. All would be well. Probably. Obtained From A Little Night Music (Music of the Night: Reprise)